


Monsters

by VandaQ



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Dark Will, Other, Post-Season/Series 02, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-14
Updated: 2015-02-14
Packaged: 2018-03-12 20:33:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3354368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VandaQ/pseuds/VandaQ
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You cannot control the monsters you are afraid of; that is what Will Graham has to learn.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Monsters

_There are stories meant to keep our fears alive; stories that our mothers tell us about monsters that live under our beds and attack us if we draw on the walls; stories about monsters that will make us desire not to live anymore and that are named 'guilt' and 'responsability'; stories about monsters that wear black capes and have power over us and can replace life with death. They all are monsters that we know about. What happens when we don't know our monster? What happens when we discover too late who the monster is? What happens when we discover the monster in ourselves?_

_Questions that are all unreachable for Will Graham. You can't control the monster you are afraid of, he thinks as the blade cuts, deeper and deeper, cold and solid as ice, so firm against the blood and organs that gush out through the hole from his body. He stares in the eyes of the monster and silents all the yells, silents all of his fears; a fiery sight. And yet so fond, being unable to not notice the flicker that decorates the maroon irises; the flicker of regret and human. Will has to remind himself monsters are not human before he slips to the ground._

 

* * *

 

"Will?" The question is soft and careful, but does not quite reach the mind of the man, the clogged sight with fury and desperation. The dark haired woman makes a gesture to adjust her glasses then continues in a firm voice: "Will, you have to talk to me. I need to assess your current condition so I can find a treatment. Treatment, Will. You want to be treated, no? Will?"

 _No._ His mind speaks. _No._ His heart speaks.

"No." His voice speaks. "No. Where is he? Where is he? Where is he?" He repeats, lips falling to a taciturn mutter, incomprehensible for both the psychologist and the injuried man. He hides under his curls, shields his gaze; cradles his face in his palms; his fingers are gently tingled by his stubbles and the hair dances around the back of his neck when he shakes his head.

"He's not here. But I am and you can cooperate." A sigh from the woman; Will shakes his head vigorously; _no. No. No._

"Where is he?" he repeats. He repeats the question until it doesn't sound like a question anymore, but a weak command that departs from his lips; he repeats it until the woman takes her coat and leaves the house; until Winston falls asleep with his head nuzzled into his bare foot.

"Where is the monster?"

 

* * *

 

The known face of the woman from the picture brings in him a tiny tsunami of feelings that pour into his chest generously, filling it until he registers the sensation that he is suffocated. A hand comes to rest on his shoulder and he recognises the tired eyes of his former boss.

"Thank you for coming, Will. Bella... _Appreciates_ it." Will wants to tell him that Bella can't 'appreciate' anything right now; but he reminds himself who was next to him in the cold mornings of autumn when whiskey didn't warm his body quickly enough. He reminds himself he still thinks about Alana in _present tense_ and he stops his words; stops his tears as well.

"I hate funerals," he mumbles, gently, almost childishly and Jack nods with a simpathetic smile; the ghost of a smile, in fact. His smile has been thrown into the ground when Bella was descended into that cold place. And even before, when Alana followed the same road. And even before when he heard Will's lips mumbling tremblingly the farewells toward dr. Lecter. The detective moves his calloused hand to his neck, instinctively, and Will catches this action; blinks, rarely.

"You know where you find me. I can't offer alcohol since is prohibited, but I can offer company." His words are calm, steady; so steady in Jack Crawford's universe that seems to fall apart. Will's voice, presence and blue eyes are the sole piece of the puzzle that has not been destroyed yet. The only remaining piece of foundation of the building his life is. And he is truly, sincerely glad Will is able to be there.

"Thank you..."

 

* * *

 

"Hey, buddy." Winston receives his pet with a joyful bark and upon Will's lips phantoms a grin, so distant and lost he has to wonder if he indeed smiled or just... Or just didn't. He wants a bit of Scotch right now. Just a drop, to wet his lips, to coat gingerly his palate and warm himself up for a second. He's freezing; shivering. But he doesn't make anything about it. He finds a spot on the couch, the elegant black coat from the funeral still draped around his shoulders and brings his legs to his chest; hugs himself; stares into air; measures his heart beats. He doesn't move. Only his cheeks are softly damped by two traces of tears.

Six months.

Six months and his life became this. He wasn't on the happy side; not even dreamed of it. But he was... _Not this_. Not the crying mess that had no one. The most dangerous thing is that he had accustomed himself with _not_ being a crying mess wih all those dear around him dead or... Not there.

He wants so much a drop of Scotch right now.

To kiss him; his delicate moves against his lips; the pleasuring warmth that evades from his body, the subtle heat that envelops him; the lascivious moves of his caress upon his face skin; his fingers dragging him to an invisible trap.

"I miss..." He canot finish, because he bites his knuckles, his whole body moved by convulsions.

He falls asleep with wet lashes and a kind dog licking the scratches from his hands.

 

* * *

 

A knock from the door makes Will's head tilt, curiosity furrowng his eyebrows and hands moving swiftly to wipe themselves upon a cloth spoiled with oil and vasseline. His steps are cautious and his back is slightly arched outside, in a predatory, ready to attack stance. He thinks he picked this up from his dogs. The door is opened and a serious face appears before him and, before he can form a word, the tall man makes already a few steps into his house.

"What are you doing here?"

"Taking advantage of your company," the voice replies to him and he sighs, not yet convinced he is able to interact normally with anyone. But he moves back to his place, on the floor, where a ray of sun provides him the necessary light. He sees Jack helping himself with a seat on his old couch and he quietly, comfortably starts to work again on his boat engine. He doesn't want to question Jack; not now. He feels _it_ coming. Like the quiet before a raging storm. He keeps working in perfect silence, their breaths sycronising at some point, with the light of the room dimming imprevisibly and with sounds of dogs walking around the house.

"I see the pack is reunited," Jack comments and he only nods, holding between his tightly closed lips a construction nut. After he puts it at its respective place he directs a short glance at the detective.

"Well, they saw my condition is better; my problems with the alcohol are inexistent now as well. Rehabilitation functioned on me." He takes in a breath; he feels _it_. He wipes his hands and lifts his face, slowly, their eyes meeting, locking. Will starts to shake his head and mutter 'no' before Jack can even open his mouth.

"He might get away with all," the man mutters eventually. Silence.

Before the storm.

Will's breath is irregular; his eyes close; he is trembling; shaking; Jack sees the last piece of his puzzle falling apart and he can't endure this. He grips the empath's shoulders, command him to open his eyes. Will's irises are drown in tears and his expression is void of any feeeling.

" _How?_ " is all that Will can manage, is all that he can choke out, chest constricting painfully and breath transformed into a violent struggle for taking air.

"Calm down, please. Will!" Jack holds his head in place and instructs him. And Will can see Jack, but he cannot hear any sound that flies off the man's lips. _No. No. No._

The storm is installing.

He starts to understand what Jack says; slowly; the information floats around his head some minues before to solidify into a cruel sentence that is proclaimed on his name.

"But Alana... Abbigail..."

Jack shakes his head. Continues on a steady voice that sounds like the winter wind knocking at the windows and making the doors rattle.

Finally, the storm...

Will feels tired suddenly. Eight months and nothing concrete.

He closes his eyes and sighs. His head falls on the shoulder of the older man. He feels a big hand on his head and he is _oh so tired_ right now. He wants to sleep for an eternity and never wake up. And he does sleep for some good days...

 

* * *

 

Gentle light knocks at his lids, prompting them to open, further; _here_. The light; it seems like he had travelled for years through the universe and he is now back in this sordid reality.

_'His defending attorney claims that he had no intention to kill; with his knowledge about anatomy he could have killed us easily. Due to his past and some test that they had run on him, it was proved that he is slightly paranoid. The whole story of his attorney is that he trusted you and you betrayed him. When he felt in danger he reacted on impulse.'_

_'He did not kill Alana; Abbigail pushed her through the window.'_

_'He is in therapy. The psychologist says he's in great distress and he suffers from depression at the current moment. Will?'_

"Will?"

_'Will!'_

"Will!"

A sharp breath forces its way into his lungs and his eyes open wide. His whole body aches and he feels empty; oh so empty and cold. And still tired. The first reaction is to close back his eyes, but a strong palm presses against his forehead and he is coaxed into reality. He sees relief washing over the detective's features and easing away all the deep lines from his forehead.

"Will, can you hear me?" His head moves, the action resulted with a soft pain and a thumping sensation against his temples. "You slept for two days." He moves his lips, but his throat is dry as the sand and, as he gulps, he feels more pain; within his whole body. It is not his imagination; every bone and muscle is sore and painful. "Rest for now. I will bring water." Jack wants to stand, but fingers that cling on his sleeve stop him.

"I want to see him." The echo of the hoarse voice sticks to the walls and reverberates threatingly some seconds, until Jack does a simple move, a single sign with his head.

_'Yes.'_

 

* * *

 

The tie that snakes its way around his neck is now tied by swift hands in a perfect knot and the navy material falls on his chest with a dangling movement. His collar is perfecly adjusted by the same tan fingers and, as the blue eyes from the mirror watch his steps closely, he sighs, lips trembling imperceptibly in the process. He tucks the fabric of the shirt into his pants and finishes his attire. Perfect. He doesn't want to be under-dressed for _this_.

**He is in control. The monster cannot hurt him.**

His curls are now shorter and he makes an effort in arranging them, giving them an order. His eyes fall on the calendar; Tuesday. Another sigh.

"I am ready," he speaks to his friend who had watched him the whole time in reverentious silence. Will's eyes are fiery, menacing, made of steel and ice; they are two iron shields created for anyone that might try to discover the mysteries that the mind of the empath hides. Jack is not sure if this is Will he knows; but he knows Hannibal Lecter cannot hurt him anymore. _In any way._

 

* * *

 

The building is practically made of hallways, like a maze; this is what remarks firstly Will. _Good_ , he thinks. _He will not be able to get out of here._

The walls are all painted in an ill hue of pale blue that makes you feel like they are pressing you, that try to envelop you in a deadly embrace. As the doctor in the white coat guides them through the building, he can see the distress of the detective. He can feel the panic, the anguish of the older man. And he wants to comfort Jack, but he cannot. Not when he feels so empty and cold as ice and when his eyes do not express anything but void; a blue that is as hallucinating as the pale blue of the walls.

"Here we are, gentlemen. Room 156. I must inform you that recently he has attempted to commit suicide, that's why we isolated him from any material that could harm him or others. So please make sure you handed all the dangerous objects at the reception." A professional smile is contouring on the doctor's lips, but Will cannot contain his eagerness enough as to hear what he has to say. He makes his way to the door and can finally meet the monster again. Through the small window he can dinstinguish the well-tailored form of his body, the well-proportioned features of his face and his blinding white bandages that embrace his forearms.

He looks back at the two that keep their distance from the door and he can see the sick expression Jack put on his face. One hand is on his stomach as if he had the urge to vomit. But he sees the agent mantaining his composure and averting his gaze to stare at the floor. The doctor moves, takes out the keys that do a sinister sound down the long corridor; a soft click and the door it's opened, the white coat of the doctor appearing in the visual area of the former psychologist. Then another figure, that is somehow familiar, but not quite; something he remembers; _'a visitor, dr. Lecter'_ resonates in his head; the maroon eyes move slowly to the top of the figure.

Until they reach a pair of blue ones; the air that feeds his lungs stops its journey in his trachea. His chest hugs his organs in a painful embrace and his lips part.

The door is closed.

And so are Hannibal's eyes. On his lips a smile blossoms; natural and so unexpected; a single smile that destroys the whole facade he had put on until now.

"Hello, Will."

"Hello, doctor Lecter."

"Please; help yourself with a seat."

"Thank you."

"So delicious."

"I imagine."

A pause for them both to suck in a breath so necessary in this situation. They stare at each other, taking in the whole appearance.

"You have cut your hair."

"You've let yours grow."

"Nice suit."

"Cassual clothes adept now?"

"Your humour is delighting."

"What common of you."

"Your confidence is not common for you, though."

"I had some time to improve myself."

Hannibal hums.

Will mutters a silent smile.

Hannibal cannot sate himself with just one glance; he devours the empath from the other side of the room, where Will is seated on a chair. He explores all the curves of the body after the suit molds; all the angles and sharp edges of his face; he is intoxicated with the other's picture and he wants more; to drown into this feerie of feelings.

Glorious; this is how Will feels. He caresses with his cold stare the contours of Hannibal's face; his gaze drifts along the firm body of the other that is teasingly hidden under he v-necked blouse and simple trousers. Some tresses of his hair decorate the ample forehead he wants so much to kiss now.

A shiver marches in the same time along their bodies and their crystals meet in the most intimate contact. _Almost intimate._

"What happened? You don't want to let me in your mind anymore?" Hannibal's words come in a raucous voice, his vocal chords strained with a tint of annoyance and desire. Will keeps the curve of his lips in the same position; he blinks, staring composedly at the doctor.

"You've wandered enough through there, Hannibal." The name escapes his lips with a ginger tone, his tongue molding after the sounds so easily, so patiently Will cannot almost believe how pleasing is to prounounce the letters.

"That is quite cruel from your part, Will." The short name evades from his chest in a breathy voice, impregnated with the devotion he feels filling him to the last bone of his body, with the adoration that this man stirs in him.

 _So powerful..._ , Hannibal hushes in a corner of his mind, exalted, closing his eyes. So deliciously and deviously powerful; Hannibal is more than elated to see how his tender care over Will is finally visible.

Will Graham is finally prepared to stand by him.

And he does stand; Will stands and walks to the door where he knocks in the window for release.

"Will you come back?"

"No. I will wait, Hannibal."

"Seems fair."

"Goodbye, doctor Lecter."

The soft sound of the door as Will disappears remains in his ears.

"Until the next time, Will."

**Author's Note:**

> Ow, not happy or fluffy, I know... But these two make me sad.
> 
> Thank you for your reading~ <3 Opinions are well-received. ^^
> 
> P.S.: Watching 'How to get away with murder' gives you strange ideas about how to get out of prison criminals, for sure...


End file.
